How to Deal With Legal Support Staff: A Refresher Course

Welcome to another beautiful morning here at Lawyers & Liquor, where I, the Boozy Barrister, talk about whatever has popped into my tiny little head in the last 74 hours since the last time we spoke. You know, on Monday I disclosed that, for the past several months, my office has been without support staff. As such, the inmates are running the asylum in our offices as attorneys do every task great and small that requires any amount of effort, not just those that require the lawyer’s expertise. In short, I’ve been reminded that the true prophets of our time, the 1980’s glam metal band Cinderella, truly knew what they were talking about when they said “You don’t know what you got (till it’s gone).”

Look at that shit! I worked in a glam metal reference. Not fucking bad if I do say so myself.

Anyhow, once the piece went up it hit me that there are some litigation fetuses out there getting ready to leave the comforting and calm bosom of law school to enter into the world of legal practice. There may even be some placenta-encrusted baby lawyers just now struggling into their first type of legal employment. And, as we all know, those fucking jackasses in their Joseph A. Banks suits may have absolutely no clue how to handle the very same legal support staff that I am now lacking and, as a result, may be increasing their chances of either (a) unemployment in a short order or (b) finding themselves sobbing under their desk as Cinderella plays on Spotify repeatedly, gorging themselves on an entire fucking ice cream cake because they can’t figure out how to conference in a three-way call with a client and another party.

But never fear, my little fuck-a-dos, because Boozy is here to help – or at least harangue – you with five simple tips you need to remember about your legal support staff.

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So You Passed The Bar, Part 1 – Still Not A Lawyer Yet

Welcome back to Lawyers & Liquor, the website where I genuinely don’t care what you think as I ramble about legal crap and try to impart a bit of wisdom to the Pampers-wearing pestilence that is the baby lawyer and the law student out there, as well as a healthy dose of spite for the experienced attorney who can find their way in the world.  I’m the Boozy Barrister, and it’s Wednesday, October 10, 2018 as we enter the dark and depraved world of the recent bar admissions.  To a lot of people out there that sat in a stuffy room during two to three days in July to take an exam, and then agonized through the months after, congratulations.  You’re lawyers now.  Or at least you will be as soon as someone administers the oath of office and character and fitness clears your baby-smooth bottoms for the practice of law.  But don’t worry too much about that last point.  If Michael Cohen can get a license to practice, so can you.

Instead, let’s take a moment and recognize that despite the fact you have a license to practice law, none of you really have any clue what you’re going to do next or how you’re going to do it.  And you definitely lack the bare minimum of experience that turns the license to practice law into something other than a license to commit malpractice and take your client from a million dollar house on the hill to eating Vienna sausages and saltine crackers in the local trailer park, right? Right. Don’t even try that “getting offended” shit with me here.  You still have concepts like “truth” and “justice” ringing in your fucking ears from all the idealistic law school professors that never once in their lives did a client intake.  You, folks, are fresh-eyed and happy people.  And I’m here to put an end to that shit right the fuck now.

So why don’t you little pricks settle into your high chairs and straighten the tie on your Baby’s First Real Suit as Boozy tells you some shit you need to know in the real world of the day-to-day shit lawyer.  Because, brothers and sisters, it’s about fucking time someone did.

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Like A Lamb to Slaughter – Are you being placed on the altar?

Well well, it’s Wednesday and once again I neglected to post jack on Monday. I’m a bad person. But I’m a busy person this time of year as cases keep piling up for low dollar amounts and the office is churning files to try and get things done. So it makes some sense I’ve missed a couple of posts here, among the other things that I have to do on a daily and weekly basis, and sometimes even a monthly basis, to keep a roof over the head and food in the fridge. Ain’t life a bitch?

So this week a few things happened that made me think: firms, especially big firms, really tend to take advantage of that “new associate” smell, don’t they? The new associate smell is sort of like the new car smell, except instead of rich leather and factory goodness, it’s a whiff of desperation mixed with a heavy dose of what pure anxiety and worry would smell like if it was distilled into a scent and called Eau de Associate. New associates are, by and large, the brand new bitches in a stable of abusive pimps known as the Senior Partners. And unlike Tony, the pimp with a heart of gold that cares for all of his “employees” and takes good care of them, thank you very much Daddy, law partners have absolutely no attachment to their associates when the fat gets in the frying pan.

Don’t believe me? File a meritorious and likely to succeed motion to sanction opposing counsel at some big firm and see who shows up. It sure as shit ain’t gonna be Mr. Senior Partner in his $2,000 handmade suit that’s been strutting his shit around the courtroom and depositions for the past several months. It’s going to be some harried looking kid, fresh-faced but quickly developing the thousand yard “oh shit” stare, that wanders in trailing behind their client. They’ll look like they’re about to wet themselves and soak straight through the off-the-rack Joseph A. Banks suit that they bought on sale (or that they bought a few months prior when they graduated law school). They’ll be wholly unfamiliar to you, and to the judge, and likely will have forgotten to do minor things like entering their appearance on the case. Everyone in the room, except the poor kid shuffling around in their far-too-optimistic litigation bag, will taste the tinge of blood in the air.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the sacrificial lamb.

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